Enough
by ShimmerAteDeath
Summary: A Blast from the Near Past : An alternate scene from PiTH. Brennan could have been a lot more angry at Booth. That could have made Booth pretty angry. Smut might have ensued.


_So, quick A/N. I actually wrote this story ten years ago for another sexually-tense crime-fighting duo. Found it again, and realized (with a lot of tweaks), it works as an alternate scene from The Pain in the Heart. I've been meaning to get into writing again and editing and repurposing old work seemed like the easiest start. There's another chapter if you like it, so review and ye shall receive._

Enough

He was dead. Had been dead. Left her.

He had left her.

But not really, as it was all a lie. More lies. She tried to live a life of truth, but everything that surrounded her was built of lies.

She was going to explode. Or maybe implode. Right there, right then. The frustration and anger seeped from every pore with no where to go. At any moment, her blood and guts would be splattered over her nice couch and sensible, overflowing bookcases. Leaving only her bones. Of all that she imagined, the bones were rendered in the most detail. Was it strange that she could see her own bones, her own skeleton, so very clearly in her mind's eye?

But she was no stranger to death, no stranger to being alone. But without him, it was the sort of alone where the universe is expanding by the second, while she shrank smaller and smaller. She had missed him more than she thought she would. More than she thought she could.

Her head hurt, her eyes burned with unshed tears, tears she refused to shed for him, and someone knocked at her door. She didn't even bother turning down the stereo, the music blaring loud enough for most people to lose their thoughts. But not her. When she opened the door, she blinked and blinked and blinked to clear her vision. But there was no mistaking it. It was him. Really, who else could it have been?

For once, she was speechless. She found herself looking into brown eyes. Very familiar brown eyes.

That son of a bitch. He had some nerve. And, as the saying goes, if looks could kill, he'd be in that coffin after all.

He looked at her, a guilty smile on his face. He brushed past her uninvited, walking directly to the stereo to turn down the harsh music. She shut the door neatly, wound tighter than a spring, her anger so potent it was bitter on her tongue.

He turned to her, a crooked, weak smile on his face. His sore face, slightly bruised from her wicked right cross.

"I guess I should have told you."

That goddamned son of a motherfucking bitch.

"You guess you should have told me? You're the one who tells me what being a partner, being family, is all about. I guess for you, it matters little when family dies. That's good to know," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm and malice.

They were standing roughly two feet away from each other and with each sentence she got closer. And he backed away.

"How could you do this to me? After all we've been through you don't trust me enough to tell me you weren't dead? Get out of here before I finish what I started at your funeral," she yelled, face red and blue eyes blazing with anger.

He was starting to get angry himself, back against the wall, her face so close that he could feel her breath on his.

"Why the hell are you so upset? I'm alive, and I'm here to inform you of that fact. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. Actually, no, I'm not sorry. You were on the list. You were first on that list. I did this to catch the bad guys. I thought you'd understand," he yelled, fists clenched by his sides.

"Understand this, Booth. This ends here and now. I'm done. Don't you get it? This doesn't work. You just can't use me whenever it's convenient, whenever you're tired of doing the work on your own. I'm tired of being used for your purposes, a means to your end. This was supposed to be an equal partnership. What about what I want, what I need?"

Her voice was aching from the strain, her heart pounding. But she was so close, and she smelled so sweet. Her face was flushed pink, chin raised to look him squarely in the eye.

Something snapped in Booth, and he grabbed Brennan by her shoulders, spinning them to shove her against the wall. Not enough to hurt, but sure as hell enough to surprise. He held her wrists to her sides, body pressed up against her as he whispered sharply in her ear.

"You know, I'd love to hear about what you want, what you need. Right after I explain what I need. What I want," he said.

She struggled against him. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, lips brushing against her sensitive ear lobes with each word.

"What I want is a partner who doesn't tease me with every look. What I want is partner who doesn't wear tight jeans with an ass that looks like it would fit perfectly in my hands. What I need is partner who doesn't have perfect tits, a partner who would let me do my job and not distract me," he said, desperately trying to keep his breathing even.

"Well, Booth, what I want is a partner who will trust me. And it seems I need a partner who can control his baser instincts," she spat out from between clenched teeth.

Her nearness, her softness, her warmth. His body, flush against hers, responded quickly. And predictably, his mind said logically. Proximity plus aggression made for quite the stunning aphrodisiac.

Of course, so did his partner.

He couldn't help it. He was getting hard. And as close as they were, it was impossible for her not to know. Oh, and she noticed. He could see it in her eyes. Smug. The woman looked smug.

"You know, anthropologically speaking, this was bound to happen one day. Alpha male, alpha female, constant struggle for power, for dominance. It's hard not to equate that struggle to sex. Why don't you let me go, and then go fuck yourself. Literally," she said, her mouth curled into a sarcastic smirk.

"That's what you think, Bones," he said, head shaking slowly. "Wrong. I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to make you beg for it."

"I don't think so," she said, more challenge than rebuke.

In one quick motion, faster than she thought him capable, he hoisted her slender frame over one shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing?" she snapped, struggling ineffectively against his tight grasp.

He didn't answer. Once at her bed, he tossed her on it, then held her wrists down with one hand as he reached for his cuffs, promptly handcuffing her to the headboard.

He should have stopped, but he didn't. He undressed her quickly, pulling down her pajama pants and panties in one swoop, and pushing up the cotton cami she wore enough to expose her ample breasts.

"Booth..." she warned through clenched teeth.

He ignored her, eyes on her naked body, not bothering to control himself now.

She lay before him, squirming madly, cursing colorfully, and beautifully naked. He took off his suit coat and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, toeing off his shoes then carefully straddling her. She knew this look. He could have been settling into a case file, examining a crime scene, interviewing a witness, but this time, his undivided focus was on his partner's flushed and naked body. Suddenly, the guilt and uncertainty washed over him like a hot flash. He looked into her eyes, seeking resolution, absolution, any kind of direction.

He saw anger. Lots of anger, certainly. Or maybe passion, as Sweets thought. But, he'd never really seen that look in her eye before. And he knew all her looks. He ventured a guess that this one meant she was aroused. Or so he hoped. But she would have kneed him in the balls already if she really wanted out. There was one thing he was sure of, as he examined her expression.

There was no fear. Somehow, her trust in him ran deep. Deeper than it should.

He'd dwell on it later. Right now, he had a job to do. And that was to make her beg. He was tired of begging her forgiveness. It was time for her supplicate, to be human, to be imperfect, for once. A dirty job, but someone had to do it. Actually, he thought, it was about time someone did it properly.

He pulled her legs apart roughly and she stilled in seeming surprise. He trailed his finger along the inside of her leg. And up and up. But stopping before reaching his goal. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes fluttered shut at his sudden detour, as his hand slid to cup her hip instead.

He smiled. This was going to be easier than he thought.

The fingertips of one hand trailed slowly up to her breasts, stroking gently around their curves, avoiding their straining pink peaks. He moved his other hand up, now joining the other in teasing her, gently kneading with minimal pressure on the sensitive skin. She was moaning lightly, so faint he had to strain to hear. That wouldn't do at all.

He increased the pressure, grasping her firmly with both hands, thumbs now periodically, almost accidentally, brushing her nipples. So infrequent was the touch that she gasped each time it happened, almost in shock.

And then he reached down, pulling one of those hard peaks in his mouth. His tongue teased and sucked and bit her right nipple as his other hand tweaked and rolled the left between his thumb and finger. He changed his rhythm enough to keep her guessing, slowly pushing his lower body to rest firmly between her open thighs.

Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, he switched sides, and treated her left breast with the same care and attention as his mouth had the right.

Her moaning was slowly growing louder, her hips jerking periodically against his. He pulled his mouth from her, hands back on her body, teasing and torturing her nipples as he sat up enough to look her in the eye.

"You like that?" he said, almost mocking in his tone.

She glared only, panting, hips grinding harder against his already hard dick. He pulled one of his hands from her gorgeous breasts and slid down, down, down, touching her lightly where he'd always wanted to.

She was practically dripping.

So wet, so hot. She wanted this as much as he did. He didn't feel one inch of guilt anymore. He ran his thumb in a circular motion around her clit, applying only the lightest of pressure, and she groaned. Slowly, and ever so gently, he inserted his middle finger in her, fucking her with his hand as he whispered in her ear.

"You like this? Feel good to have me back? Still want me to get out? You want to rub your own clit, or do you like the way I do it? Is this working for you, Bones?"

She just stared at him, resistance clear in her eyes, despite her body's obvious enjoyment.

But he wasn't even close to showing his hand. Time to up the ante.

He moved his body back from the apex of her legs, down the bed enough to lean down and lick her center bottom to top, taking the time to flick her engorged clit with the tip of his tongue as he pulled away. Moving his mouth back quickly to lick her again and again, so slowly, so carefully, he smiled into her as her hips pushed up from the bed to his mouth. Grabbing her hips and moving her knees to rest on his shoulders, he fucked her with his tongue, moaning into her. She shoved her hips further into his face, panting.

"Yes, yes...oh, yes. Don't stop, don't stop...oh, God," she chattered mindlessly, straining to press her body as close as possible to his talented tongue. She was so wet, so delicious, so hot, that he could think of nothing else but giving her pleasure, all the pleasure she wanted.

He alternated between rhythmic and creative strokes and thrusting his tongue into her roughly, making her frantic, making her crazy.

Finally, he put his mouth around her clit and sucked lightly, tongue quickly flicking her with precise pressure. She gasped, and moaned deeply, almost animalistic, her hips pumping against his face wildly. As she started to come down, he stuck his tongue deep inside her again, feeling her inner muscles clamping down on his tongue. He kept stroking her with his tongue, as she shivered slightly. Slowly moving up from his position, he balanced on his knees, to face her. He undid the cuffs.

"I don't know, Bones. Maybe you didn't want it, but it seems like you might have needed that," he said, matter of fact.

She was in no mood. She sat up and kissed him, her mouth open and wet, tongue invading his. He was taken aback by her actions, and went with her when she pressed her sweet body against him, pushing him onto his back. He didn't even notice until it was too late that she had handcuffed him to the footboard.

"What the hell are you doing, Bones?" he asked, thoroughly afraid of the answer.

"Partnerships are about equality, Booth. And I believe it was you who said something about begging," she said, a truly evil smile on her face.

He gulped, brash confidence evaporating.

He was cuffed to the bed, cock straining against his dress pants, begging for attention. And the only one there he could play with was feeling particularly evil. But, by some miracle, he watched her unbutton his pants, and slide down the zipper slowly. She spread his pants, and lowered his boxers low enough for his erection to spring free.

She griped him with one hand, and he pulsed in her firm grasp. And now, it was her straddling him. She impaled herself on him in one quick motion. He gasped out loud.

"Oh, God," he moaned. So tight, hot, wet....

Then she started to move and he couldn't think of words at all. They both groaned softly to each other, no words. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his dress shirt. They just looked into each other's eyes. Like so much else in their relationship, it was a power play.

And then she stopped. Completely stopped and moved away from him, Sitting on her knees next to him, leaving him panting and aching.

"What??....," he managed.

She leaned forward, hands on either side of his head, lips so tantalizing close.

"Beg me for it, Booth. Tell me you want me. Only me. Tell me you want to fuck me. Hard. Tell me you were wrong. Beg me for forgiveness. And beg me to keep going or I'll leave you hanging," she said, short of breath herself.

No. He wouldn't. He couldn't. She couldn't win. Not now. Not after all that.

"I don't think so," he said, voice straining. "I think I'll leave now."

"Fine," she said, a touch of disappointment in her eyes. She released him, handing him his own cuffs as she walked over to her bedroom door, pulling on a short, light robe as she walked out of the room.

She went into the living room, retrieving a half-full glass of Merlot she'd been nursing slowly before he arrived. She took a quick sip, placing the glass back on the coffee table. Suddenly she felt hands on her hips, pulling her back and pushing her again over the arm of the sofa.

He pushed the robe up to reveal her ass and, spreading her legs apart with one knee, pushed himself back into her. She braced herself, hands on the couch in front of her. He fucked her hard and fast, holding himself back and coming only when he felt her muscles tighten and heard her scream in ecstasy.

They sat there, panting, still joined for a few minutes. Then Booth pulled himself out of her and pulled down her robe. She stood up, legs slightly wobbly, and

moved to sit on the couch. Once again, she reached for her drink. She stared up at Booth with a sated smile behind her eyes.

"Want a drink?"


End file.
